HILDEGARDE AND GEORGE
SEVERAL weeks passed and George was still "sent to Coventry by the
regiment," as he called it. He still had not a single friend with
whom he had any close relations. His hope that Willberg, whom he had
helped out of his difficulty, would get on more friendly terms with
him, was not fulfilled. On the contrary, the latter had less to do
with him than usual, although he had not yet paid his debt. George
did not trouble about this. He had already had many disagreeable
experiences in these matters in his old regiment; but as he himself
had grown up in quite different circumstances, he did not really
grasp the attitude of the "Golden Butterflies" with regard to money.
They had no hesitation, even in the presence of the orderlies, in
borrowing from each other. Very often, indeed, they made no scruples
about saying to their servants: "Spend this or that amount on my
behalf," but the money was not always returned to the orderly the
same day. They got credit wherever they could, and borrowed from
all possible sources. In the chief restaurant, where they often
passed the evenings rather than stay at home in barracks, many of
the officers owed the waiter fifty or sixty marks actually in cash,
besides what they owed for food and drinks. And it was just those who
owed the waiter most, who lived most extravagantly, ate the dearest
food and drank the most expensive wine, and when they went off it
was always, "Muller, put down twenty marks to my account, you know
you'll get it all right." But the question was, when? Some of the
officers had owed this money for months, and they never thought of
paying back; so long as they wore a uniform, surely the money was
safe enough. George noticed with astonishment that the officers in
Berlin were just as lax in these matters as they had been in his
former regiment. Once in the little garrison town, in a restaurant
much frequented by the military, there was a row with the landlord;
the officers boycotted the place and swore that the fellow shouldn't
get another penny from them. But not a single one of them thought of
paying his debts, part of which were due to the landlord, part to
the waiter. It was only when the landlord complained to the colonel
that he obtained redress, but even then it was in a curious manner.
The colonel did not order his officers to pay their debts within
twenty-four hours, but he gave them six weeks in which to discharge
their liabilities. And so the landlord and the waiter, who really
needed their money, had to wait patiently all that time.
George remembered another incident that had taken place only a few
weeks ago. One morning a senior lieutenant had appeared at lunch
much excited, and said that the hairdresser to whom they all went
had written and dunned him on account of a miserable debt of a few
pounds, and had threatened him with a summons through the post, as he
was in great difficulties and wanted his money at once. The officer
openly admitted that he had had the hairdresser's bill several
times, but had never paid him a penny. But, in spite of this, there
was a storm of indignation at the hairdresser's daring to write to
him. Why should the fellow want his money in such a hurry? Couldn't
he wait? The few pounds were quite safe, and nobody ever sends a
man of position a summons through the post. The end of the story
was that the "Golden Butterflies" were forbidden to patronise the
hairdresser's shop, but, in spite of this, the officers who owed
money there did not discharge their debt.
Certainly in all matters connected with money they had few scruples
and lax views. Debts were only considered as such when they consisted
of actual money; they never reckoned in what was owing to a
tradesman. The fellow was there, of course, to give credit; he had
to wait two or three years, sometimes much longer, before getting
his money. He ought to be delighted if the officers came into his
shop, and ought to be willing to pay something for the honour of
having such customers, and getting a good advertisement. They got
credit everywhere, and once it happened that a lieutenant owed
his own servant twenty marks. The incident was revealed when the
recruits were dismissed. The colonel when discharging the recruits
said: "Has any one of you any claims on the regiment? if so, let him
make it now." Then a young recruit stepped forward and said in a
loud voice: "I am still owed twenty marks by my former lieutenant,
which he borrowed from me a few months ago when I had some money
from home." The matter was investigated, and found to be quite
correct; the fellow was paid his money and the lieutenant received
a severe rebuke. But everyone thought it was an unheard-of thing
for a discharged soldier to bring a complaint against his former
lieutenant. Nobody, however, asked if the man were in a position to
bear the loss of twenty marks.
George remained completely isolated among his companions. Nobody
troubled in the least about him. His astonishment therefore was all
the greater when one day after lunch his adjutant sat down beside
him, and engaged him in a long and very friendly conversation. He
could not quite account for this mark of distinction, but he quickly
understood when Count Wettborn suddenly said to him: "I have for
a long time meant to ask you why your father does not try to get
a title. The thing is certainly not easy, but your father is well
thought of by His Majesty, and it would be easy to overcome the
difficulty if your father would be disposed to give a couple of
hundred thousand marks for some charitable object. Your father could
certainly do that--why doesn't he?"
"Because my father is proud of his own name, which he has made an
honourable one."
The count rubbed his feet with some embarrassment, then he said: "Of
course, your father is quite right as far as he himself is concerned,
but he ought to think of you. You would take quite a different
position in Society if you were a baron or a count. The world lays
great stress on this, and in my opinion it is quite right. For you,
especially, now that you belong to a distinguished regiment, a title
would be of the greatest value."
The count talked to George for a long time, and the latter saw
clearly that the adjutant in saying all he did was not following
a sudden impulse, but was acting on mature reflection, and had
evidently consulted the wish of the colonel or one or other of the
military authorities. George felt the blood mount to his cheeks. He
felt ashamed that his companion had the audacity to talk to him in
this way. Good heavens! was a title then, which could be bought for
a few hundred thousands, really of much more importance to these
aristocratic lieutenants, who were ciphers when they got out of
their uniforms, than a good, old, simple middle-class name which was
honoured and respected by the whole commercial world?
He could not help saying in reply to the adjutant: "My father has
often enough been offered a peerage, but every time he has refused
it."
"I cannot understand such a thing." The count stuck his eyeglass in
more firmly and looked at George with speechless astonishment. "I
really cannot understand it," he repeated, and George saw that he
spoke in bitter earnest. He really _could_ not understand how a man
could refuse a title, simply because he was proud of his own plain
name.
For a long while the adjutant sat silent, then he finished the
conversation with the remark: "Well, perhaps you will write to your
father again about this matter, or, better still, perhaps you will
talk to him. You may be able to change his mind."
George did not answer, but he knew how his father always laughed at
the people who directly they had made money had no other ambition in
life but to get a title. He felt that the words which the adjutant
had just addressed to him were almost an insult, and yet when he
considered them quietly, he could not altogether take umbrage at
them. He saw every day of his life how the aristocracy had the
preference in everything; how even in these enlightened days a title
possessed many advantages, and that it was given to men of wealth as
a distinction and an honour. And even in the army was not a title
of advantage to a man? If three officers, one of whom had a title,
went in for a post, was not the aristocrat always chosen, and if by
the rarest chance a middle-class man was ever successful in such a
case, was he not at once ennobled? The position of an officer is
only suited for a man with a title. The old adage was very suitable
for present days--the plebeian in the army who did not distinguish
himself in some extremely remarkable manner would never get promotion
as soon as the most ordinary commonplace titled officer.
And was it any different in Society? George had now been to quite
enough social entertainments to know how everyone bowed down to a
title; how even the youngest aristocratic lieutenant was considered
superior to a staff-officer of plebeian birth. And how often had he
not noticed how people hummed and hawed at the sight of him, and
could not understand how it was he belonged to such a distinguished
regiment. Although the words had been softly spoken he had once heard
a young girl at a ball whisper to a friend: "If Lieutenant Winkler
asks me to dance, I shall say my programme is full; I shall certainly
not dance with a middle-class officer."
All the women regarded him as an outsider. A bare nod was their only
greeting, even the one or two who shook hands with him did this
without breaking off their conversation, and with an expression
which showed they thought they were doing him a great favour. But he
was just as much isolated in the army as in Society; his comrades
chattered and laughed with the ladies, had all kinds of little
intrigues with them, made engagements with them, while he wandered
about alone and bored. He was an "outsider," and nobody troubled to
introduce him.
The only person who was always pleasant to him was Hildegarde. They
had often come across one another, and a sincere friendship had
sprung up between them. The two "outcasts" Hildegarde called himself
and her to her relatives. George was never introduced, and she
herself occupied a curious position in Society. She was no longer
quite a young girl, and interest in her charms had vanished. People
invited her out, it is true, but that was largely because they could
not do anything else, but privately they always hoped she would not
accept the invitation. When she did go to parties, contemptuous
remarks were made behind her back. Hildegarde acted as if she were
quite unconscious of them, but she understood the glances that were
directed towards her, and even when she did not actually hear the
words, she knew very well how the people shook their heads over her
and whispered to each other. It was a great effort of self-control
to go to these entertainments, and after every party she said to
herself: "To-day is the very last time I will go; to-morrow I shall
go home."
But the terrible anxiety which always reigned in her home kept her at
her aunt's. "I would rather endure these secret remarks than see the
poverty and misery at home, and bear their reproaches." At intervals
she confessed to herself that she stayed on George's account; not
that she could say she was exactly in love with him. The question
of marriage had been so much and so often talked about, that love
seemed a ridiculous thing, and it all depended on whether the man
had money or not. The holiest of feelings had been so unreservedly
discussed in her presence that she believed that her heart was no
longer accessible to love. In George she saw a reliable friend. He
was always very attentive to her; as soon as he saw her by herself
he came to her side, and she felt his glance continually on her. His
glance seemed to say: "I do not know, of course, what anxiety is
troubling you, but I know that you are feeling sad and lonely here,
just as I am, and I want, therefore, to do what I can for you."
This evening she was to meet him again. There was a great reception
at the American ambassador's, and she was delighted at the prospect
of seeing him. She had dressed herself specially well for his
benefit, and had put on a new costume which her aunt had just given
her. In pleasant anticipation of the entertainment she had begun
to dress sooner than usual, and now a quarter of an hour before it
was time to go she was standing in front of the looking-glass and
regarding herself smilingly. She was pleased with her own beauty, and
knew that to-day, at any rate, she would once again arouse admiration.
She was standing deep in thought when a knock at the door aroused
her. "Is it time yet? I am quite ready. I'll come at once."
"Madam has plenty of time. The carriage is not yet at the door, but
there is an express message for you."
Hildegarde was alarmed. An express letter for her! Whatever could
have happened?
She opened the door and took the letter from the girl, and
she shuddered involuntarily when she recognised her brother's
handwriting.
"Oh, dear!" She threw the letter on the table with annoyance. Without
opening she knew perfectly well that it contained a request for
money. A feeling of repugnance came over her. "Why should he spoil
my pleasure just at this moment? How can I possibly ask my aunt for
anything when she has just given me this costly dress?" All her
pleasure had vanished. "Well," she said to herself at last, "the
letter shall not spoil my temper to-day. I shall read it to-morrow,
or this evening, when I get back again."
An inward feeling of anxiety, however, caused her to tear open the
envelope, and she read:
"DEAR LITTLE HILDEGARDE,--You know the old story how the
watchman summoned a woman out of bed and called out to her:
'Mrs. Meyer, you are going to have a terrible shock; your
husband is dead.' Well, I say to you now, dear Hildegarde, don't
be frightened, but I must have four thousand marks. The deuce
take it, but I haven't had a bit of luck lately. Yesterday
morning I had a whole heap of dunning letters. I didn't know
myself where all the people came from who suddenly demanded
money. Where on earth am I to get it from without stealing it?
So I tried my luck at cards, but the luck was against me, and
when I woke up this morning with a splitting headache I found
I had lost four thousand marks. Thank heaven I have three
days' respite, but then I must settle the affair, or nothing
else remains but to put the necessary bullet through my head.
You know that other debts don't worry me, but gambling debts
are debts of honour, and there must be no fleck on our honour.
Rather than this, we must make our exit from this world. Better
die than be dishonoured. So, dear Hilda, I must have four brown
bits of paper, and you must manage to get them for me. I ask you
this with much less reluctance than usual, because I hear with
the greatest joy that you are just about to be engaged. Well,
it's high time, Hilda, both for you and for us. Don't disappoint
us again. You have gone off considerably during the last year or
so. When I saw you last I had quite a shock. Don't misunderstand
me. You are still, of course, a very pretty girl, but nothing
compared with what you were. Well, the main thing now is for
you to capture this Winkler or whatever he's called. What sort
of a man is he? Aunt writes to mother that he pays you the very
greatest attention. You can imagine how beside themselves with
joy they are at home. Father wrote to me that in honour of the
welcome news he had immediately completed his wine cellar, and
like a chivalrous gentleman he drank your health in French
champagne. He can't stand that German stuff any longer. Father
suffers frightfully from indigestion, you know. Aunt tells us
also that your future father-in-law manufactures buttons. It's a
frightful idea, but is it really true? However, the main thing
is that he manufactures enough of them! Keep him tight! You have
fine eyes, use them well and you'll secure him. And when you
are once engaged, which it is to be hoped will be within the
next few days, then hurry on the marriage, so that he may not
have time for regrets, and before he learns how we are reckoning
on his money. When he's once my brother-in-law I'll manage to
extract the ducats from him. I don't feel in the least anxious
about _that_!
"Well, Hilda, I've written enough for to-day. I have to go on
duty, the colonel has just summoned a meeting of officers to
read out to us again the most stringent regulations concerning
Courts of Honour. Isn't it ridiculous nonsense! As if one didn't
know how to behave as an honourable gentleman indeed! If a man
doesn't _feel_ these things he doesn't learn them by yawning
more or less loudly while these endless regulations are read out
to him.
"Send me, please, the four thousand marks; uncle will give
it you at once if you tell him it will be paid back directly
after your marriage. Let me impress this upon you: have your
marriage contract drawn up at a lawyer's, and mind you have a
good income settled upon you. In your place, I wouldn't accept
less than forty thousand marks a year. The fellow must expect
to pay something for marrying into such a distinguished family.
However, I must tell you that, in spite of the French champagne
which father was only able to get on credit on the strength of
your approaching marriage, things at home are in a frightful
condition. Father wrote and asked me to send him a few thousand,
or at least a few hundred marks if I won at cards. Ah, if the
old gentleman had an idea of the terrible hole I am in! Now,
dear Hilda, arrange your affairs satisfactorily. With love and
kisses.--Your affectionate brother,
"FRITZ."
Every drop of blood vanished from Hildegarde's face as she read the
letter. She stood motionless, and a feeling of repugnance came over
her, as it often did when she had news from home. She tore the letter
into a thousand pieces and stamped them under foot.
Then she sank into a chair and buried her face in her hands. "They
ought to be ashamed of writing to me in this way," she moaned.
"Just imagine their regarding me as a chattel that is to be sold to
the highest bidder. What is it that Fritz writes?--'He must expect
to pay something if he marries into our distinguished family.'
Distinguished family!" and she laughed bitterly. "Bankrupts,
gamblers, men with whom nobody would have anything to do if it were
not that they owned noble names and wore uniforms. A man has only to
wear an officer's uniform and belong to an aristocratic family, and,
of course, he is a man of honour."
She roused herself from her meditations when her aunt came in to
inquire whether she was dressed, and when she saw Hildegarde's face
she clasped her hands in horror.
"But, Hildegarde, whatever is the matter? What has happened?"
Hildegarde shrugged her shoulders contemptuously. "What has happened!
You can see by these pieces on the floor. Fritz has been gambling
again, he needs four thousand marks. I am to ask you for it." Then
suddenly she burst forth with passionate indignation: "Aunt, how
could you tell them at home that my engagement with Lieutenant
Winkler was about to take place? You ought not to have done such a
thing; the consequences have been serious. On the strength of their
prospective son-in-law and brother-in-law, both my father and Fritz
have contracted all kinds of debts. And I do not really know if
Lieutenant Winkler even loves me. I scarcely think so, but if he
should get to love me and want to marry me, then I know what I shall
do: I shall open his eyes to everything. When he asks for my hand I
shall tell him how I have been sent for years to Berlin in order to
get a rich husband; how my relatives reckon on his money, and what
they think of his plebeian birth. I shall tell him everything, for
even if I do not love Lieutenant Winkler, I honour him and respect
him too highly to deceive him. He shall know and understand clearly
into what an honourable family he is about to marry. I shall tell him
everything!"
"You will do no such thing." Frau von Warnow had listened to
Hildegarde, speechless with amazement, and it was quite a long time
before she regained her composure. "You will do no such thing," she
repeated with anger. "You have not only your duty to your own people,
but to us also. I will not remind you of what we have already done
for you. It is true we are rich, but, in spite of this, naturally we
should not have given you, your parents and your brother, hundreds
and hundreds of pounds if we had not taken it for granted that you
would have repaid us in some way or other. When you say that you will
tell Lieutenant Winkler everything before marriage, you say something
that is simply ridiculous. The four thousand marks won't matter in
the least to him with all his money, and you may be sure he's clever
enough to know that a beautiful girl only marries a middle-class
lieutenant for his money. If you tell him everything beforehand you
warn him, to a certain extent, against marrying you, and then he
can't very well help drawing back. And then, what will you do?"
Hildegarde shrugged her beautiful shoulders. "What shall I do? I
don't mind in the least. I shouldn't starve. As I told you before, I
should get a situation of some kind or other."
Her aunt laughed contemptuously: "You are out of your mind! What do
you know, I say? What can you do? Have you any idea of housekeeping,
cooking, domestic work? You certainly couldn't get a post as a
companion. You are not a good musician, you don't read aloud well,
your knowledge of foreign languages is practically _nil_. So how
could you earn your living?" She spoke with the bitterest irony,
but when she saw the look of despair on Hildegarde's face, sympathy
got the better of her, and almost tenderly she put her arm round
the girl's neck. "Don't be so sad, it will turn out better than you
think. I can quite understand that Fritz's letter has terribly upset
you, but he doesn't mean it all. I will talk to your uncle to-day
about sending the money. He shall send it, or I will. And now, hold
your head high. It is high time for us to go."
"Yes, do go, aunt, but let me stay at home. I am really not in the
mood to go to a party."
"What? Hildegarde,"--her aunt thought she could not have heard
rightly--"you want to stay at home? That would never do. Especially
to-day when the court has promised to put in an appearance, you must
not fail to be there. And do you imagine that I had this costly new
costume made for you to take it off and put it in your wardrobe?
Whatever answer should I give when people inquired after you?"
A sorrowful little laugh played round Hildegarde's mouth.
"Nobody will ask after me; they will be delighted not to see me."
"And what about Lieutenant Winkler? What am I to say to him when he
makes inquiries after you?"
Hildegarde looked at her aunt with wide-open eyes.
"Do you not really understand that it is precisely on his account
that I don't want to go to the reception? It would be simply
impossible for me to talk to him naturally and pleasantly after
Fritz's letter and our conversation." Suddenly, however, she changed
her mind: "No, you are quite right. I will not allow the day, to
which I have so greatly looked forward, to be spoiled."
Her aunt embraced her tenderly:
"That is quite right, my child. Come along now, the carriage is at
the door."
They drove immediately to the embassy. They were somewhat late, rows
and rows of carriages were drawn up before the gates, and it was
long before their carriage could drive in. Herr and Frau von Warnow
conversed about the occupants of the other carriages, which were
close by them, exchanged remarks concerning the elegance of their
various acquaintances, and passed the time in wondering which of the
royalties would put in an appearance to-day. Hildegarde sat silent
in her corner. In answer to her uncle she had pleaded a headache,
and Frau von Warnow had given her husband a sign not to pursue the
matter. So she could remain undisturbed in her thoughts. What had
really made her change her mind and go to the reception? A sudden
desire had sprung up in her to meet George, to see and converse with
an honourable man. She did not exactly know how she was to do it, but
she had made up her mind to stick to her resolution and to say to
him: "Pay your court to some one who is worthier of you than I am."
Before she would accept any more attentions from him she wanted to
tell him about her father and brother. If then he continued to treat
her with peculiar chivalry, and to endeavour to win her hand, her
conscience would be quite free, and she could look him in the face
honestly and straightforwardly.
"Aren't you ever going to get out, Hildegarde?"
Hildegarde got out. She had sat in her corner with closed eyes,
and did not notice that the footman had been holding open the door
for a long time. She followed the others, and a quarter of an hour
later she walked into the enormous reception-rooms in which a
brilliant company was assembled. There were endless greetings and
hand-shakings, endless inquiries after health and the events of the
last few days. Everybody was constantly looking with expectation
towards the door, for the court party was momentarily expected.
Although no one, of course, would have confessed it, all were
consumed with anxiety to see whether His Majesty would notice and
talk to them, and distinguish them by shaking hands. Each one hoped
that he would enjoy this distinction. Nobody wanted the other to have
it, and each hoped, in secret, that he alone would be noticed by the
Emperor.
George was standing by Hildegarde's side. She noticed how he had
sought her out, though she had hoped to avoid him, but her tall
figure prevented him from losing sight of her. She feigned, however,
to be astonished when he suddenly said: "How do you do?" to her, but
she read in his eyes that he had seen through her little ruse, and
without further preamble he said to her: "Are you vexed with me for
any reason, baroness?"
She looked at him frankly and honestly. "No, certainly not."
His face lit up. "That's all right, then." After a slight pause he
said: "You avoided me. Is it at all disagreeable to you for me to be
by your side?"
Again she cast a frank look at him. "Not at all," and then somewhat
hesitatingly she added: "Will you be so kind as to take me in to
supper this evening?" She really meant to say: "I want to talk to
you," but she could not get out the words.
He bowed gratefully. "If we should lose sight of each other in this
crowd, baroness, let us meet again at this place, if it is agreeable
to you."
She nodded agreement, and stepped back a little, for at this moment
the royal party was announced. A mysterious stillness reigned, the
stir of voices was hushed; everyone looked at His Majesty, who had
come into the room, and smiling graciously, walked down the long row
of bowed figures. Here and there he stopped and exchanged a friendly
word or handshake, and everybody who enjoyed this distinction was
almost annihilated by his neighbours' envious glances.
Suddenly His Majesty stopped in front of George and graciously
extended his hand. "Ah, you are here, dear Winkler. How are you?
To-day I received a very interesting report from your father. I must
have a talk with him as soon as possible, and then you must come with
your father and dine with me."
George bent his head to kiss his sovereign's hand, and as he did
so, the Emperor noticed Hildegarde, and greeted her with a friendly
smile. "Are you still turning the heads of all my lieutenants,
baroness?" he asked playfully; "though that is easy enough when one
is as beautiful as you are." And with a laughing glance he passed on.
In the stillness that reigned, His Majesty's words had been heard
by the whole room, and now all eyes were turned on Hildegarde and
George, who were naturally delighted at the honour that had fallen
to them, although they were a little embarrassed at the harmless
badinage. They stood there silently, and were glad when the people
began to talk and walk about again. They did not see each other again
till midnight, when supper was announced. As usual, it was set out
on small tables, and George was fortunate in finding one at which
the guests were unknown to him, and so he could talk undisturbed
to Hildegarde. However, they were temporarily the objects of their
companions' notice, and some of the ladies spoke freely about the
remarks which the Emperor had made about Hildegarde. Indeed one, a
haggard, tall woman, examined Hildegarde most impertinently through
her lorgnette, and then said half aloud: "Well, I can't understand
why His Majesty should think her so good-looking."
Hildegarde threw a perfectly frank glance at the speaker and laughed
aloud, then she turned to George and said: "I cannot tell you how
delighted I am at the words the Emperor addressed to you. I am firmly
convinced you will now at once take your right position both in
Society and in the regiment, which before you were unable to do."
George shrugged his shoulders. "I scarcely think so, baroness. I fear
these gracious words will have done me more harm than good. People
will grudge both me and my father praise from so exalted a quarter.
However, I am not going to let that spoil my pleasure in the public
recognition of my father. Do me the honour of drinking to his health."
"With the greatest of pleasure," and the glasses clicked.
"I want you to know my father, baroness," George went on: "you would
like him, though naturally most of the people here would not. They
would never pardon him for not wearing well-starched cuffs, and for
not tying his cravat in the proper manner. I think, however, you
would like him. Perhaps the next time he comes to Berlin I might
introduce him to you? He is bringing my sister with him, and, as I
have so often told her about you in my letters, she is most anxious
to make your acquaintance."
Hildegarde was somewhat embarrassed at these words. Then he had also
told his people about her, perhaps even he had confessed that he
meant to win her hand. The remembrance of her brother's letter came
back to her. She must tell him all before it was too late. How was
she to do it? Nobody was paying any attention to their conversation,
but how was she to express what she wanted to say? As he had not told
her what his intentions were, she could not very well say to him:
"Don't think of wooing; on account of my family I will not and cannot
be your wife." And yet if without further explanations she spoke
about their poverty at home, might it not occur to him that perhaps
she expected help from him or his father. She could find no way out
of the difficulty. Then she wondered why he had never spoken to her
about his sister. She was much astonished, and at last she said:
"Have you a sister, then, Lieutenant Winkler? Why did you never tell
me about her?"
He looked at her surprised: "What! did I never tell you about her?
You mustn't take that amiss, for I had no intention of not talking
about her to you."
"And why should you not talk about her to other people?" she
inquired, with some curiosity.
George was embarrassed, and blushed like a child. "I can't exactly
explain it. Perhaps it is that when one loves anybody very much one
does not speak much about them to anyone. And even if I had wanted
to talk about her, to whom should I have talked? In the regiment no
one takes the faintest interest in me, far less in my family, and
naturally, I don't talk about such matters unless I am asked." Then,
after a slight pause, he continued: "And there's another reason why I
don't care to talk about Elsa."
"And what is that?" Hildegarde asked, as he was silent.
"I don't know how to express in words exactly what I want to say. I
don't want to appear suspicious of my comrades, neither do I wish
to represent myself as a model of virtue, which, indeed, I am not,
and could not be, at twenty-seven years old. But I can't help saying
that at mess my fellow-officers have a way of talking about young
girls, whom they meet in Society, which is simply revolting to me.
No, not revolting, that's too strong," he corrected himself. "I
am simply astounded, and constantly say to myself: 'Haven't these
officers sisters, and haven't their mothers taught them any respect
and reverence for women; so that they don't treat all alike?' In my
old regiment it was quite different; we were not perhaps more moral
men, but in the little town where we were brought into such close
relationship with the few families, we could not criticise the young
girls so freely and so shamelessly. I remember how once at dinner
an officer went so far as to make an insulting remark about one of
the ladies. The orderlies were sent out of the room, and the oldest
officer at the table, an old captain, read the young lieutenant such
a lecture before us all, that he never said a single word in excuse."
"That is as it ought to be," said Hildegarde.
"Certainly," George agreed, "that is why I am astonished that our
officers don't feel like that. If only the girls, who so often regard
a lieutenant as the paragon of perfection, knew, or could hear with
their own ears how the officers talk about them after they have been
to an entertainment, they would blush with shame, and a lieutenant
would soon cease to be their ideal. There are, of course, exceptions,
thank God! but most of my fellow-officers are as I have just
described, and it is the same in other regiments; to them a woman is
just like a horse--a thing to be examined and appraised. How is it,
I wonder, that a young girl is of so little account to a lieutenant,
that he talks of her without the least respect? I have often thought
over the matter. Is it, perhaps due to their education? Most of them
grow up in the regiment; they have no home life; they only see their
sisters and their friends when on leave; as cadets, they go into
Society to make conquests, and each conquest helps to lower all young
girls in their eyes. Perhaps the girls themselves are to a certain
extent answerable for this state of affairs. In Society there exists
no one but a lieutenant for them, they ignore a civilian, unless he
happens to be a reserve officer. The lieutenant simply goes about in
pursuit of conquest, and often he wins the victory only too easily.
I cannot speak of this from my own experience. I am a stranger here,
but I have often heard my comrades talk of young girls who push
themselves forward, send them love-letters, and who do not even wait
until they are asked to give a rendezvous, but ask permission to be
allowed to visit the officers, either in a friend's house, or in the
officers' quarters."
"But, Lieutenant Winkler," interrupted Hildegarde, "no lady would do
such a thing."
"She certainly ought not to do so," he agreed, "but, nevertheless,
she does. Just give a glance at the select company here. How many of
these aristocratic ladies have not a more or less harmless intrigue
with a lieutenant? It is not only the married ladies, I can assure
you. Those young girls trip about so modestly and chastely, yet
their great pride is that, in spite of their youth, they have had a
_past_."
Hildegarde knew only too well that he was right. She remembered how
most of the friends of her youth had had a lieutenant lover. How
often had she not spoken to them about this, and reproached them,
but all had given the same answer: "Why shouldn't I have a lover?
the others have, and what's the use of being young and beautiful? Do
you think that our blood remains calm when a man pays court to us
the whole evening, presses us closely to him when dancing, and casts
longing glances at us? Are we to wait till we have a husband? We may
wait a long time, perhaps for ever, and what then? Do you want us to
die without having had experience of life? How ridiculous!"
They told one another with truly cynical frankness how they
managed to deceive their parents and prevent any consequence of
their intrigues. Perhaps Hildegarde was naturally too cold and too
lacking in passion to understand her friends. Above all, she could
not understand the officers who, more than all others, ought to be
regarded as honourable men, and who yet made no scruples of entering
into a _liaison_ with the wife or daughter of the house where they
enjoyed the pleasantest social relations.
Hildegarde and George sat for a long time occupied with their own
thoughts. George misinterpreted Hildegarde's silence. He thought she
was perhaps vexed with his remarks, and so he said:
"I hope you are not angry with me for having spoken so freely and
frankly in your presence; but we have both of us been brought up
among quite different circumstances and educated in quite different
views."
Hildegarde felt that she blushed. Grown up among different
circumstances indeed! It was entirely her own merit that she did not
resemble her companions. Perhaps, however, it was partly due to her
father and brother who had constantly written to her: "Don't throw
yourself away, and don't enter into a _liaison_ if you are not sure
that it will lead to marriage. You will get nothing out of it, and
then you lower your value and utterly destroy the hopes we set upon
you."
How often had she not wondered whether her brother would have been
quite inconsolable if she had written to him: "I have not found a
husband but a friend. If you will pardon this, I will pay your debts."
She did not doubt that he would accept the money in order to remain
an officer and play the fêted and envied rôle in Society of a soldier.
"Are you angry with me?" George asked, as Hildegarde still remained
silent.
She roused herself from her thoughts. "Why should I be?" And in
order to turn the conversation, which was painful to her, to another
subject, she again inquired about his sister. And then George told
her all about his sister--how charming and beautiful she was, how
kindly and good, how they had grown up together as excellent friends,
and how often they had fought each other's battles when they were
children. He told his stories gaily, with sparkling eyes, and
Hildegarde listened with interest.
"Do you know, I envy you your sister, or rather the pleasant relation
in which you stand to her. Sisterly love is such a beautiful thing."
"Yes, certainly; but you are also in that happy situation. You have a
brother."
"Please do not speak to me about him."
There was such a tone of contempt and depreciation in her words that
he looked at her with astonishment.
"But, baroness, he is your brother."
"You do not know him. Please let us change the subject."
"Certainly, if you wish it."
In his embarrassment George emptied his glass and vainly thought of
another topic, and both were glad when at last everybody rose from
the table.
The ball went on till the small hours of the morning, and during the
dancing George never lost sight of Hildegarde. He had the pleasure
of being able to introduce some fresh officers and partners; and he
was really more delighted than she was at the admiration she evoked.
It was late when at last the ball broke up. George, at the last
moment, was unable to say farewell to Hildegarde, and he walked home
with a companion in a somewhat bad humour.
His companion was apparently occupied with some thoughts that
interested him. Suddenly he stood still and seized George by the arm.
"What will you bet that he wins her? That would be much better than a
lucky stroke at cards."
George regarded his comrade with astonishment. "I don't understand
what you mean. Whom are you speaking about?"
The other went on walking again. "Oh, yes, of course, you don't know
Gastion of the Hussars. My gracious, he has paid court to Fräulein
von Reisinger this evening! Well, she is no longer very young, and
she never was pretty, but her family is a very old Jewish one. I
believe her mother was a Moses, but that doesn't matter. She has
money; a frightful amount of money. If Gastion gets that, he can
live in fine style. But he certainly needs it; he is said to be two
hundred thousand marks in debt."
George had listened without apparently much interest. Then he said:
"Is it not really frightful that we officers--present company,
of course, excepted--when we choose a wife, make it a matter of
convenience? We live luxuriously, we fling away our money and our
health, and when one day we are at the end of our tether, we look out
at balls and parties for a rich young girl who will put things right
for us again. The more money she has the more, of course, we run
after her. How few marry on their pay!"
"Well, of course, that's ridiculous; who can live on a few pence."
"I quite agree with you, though many people manage to do so. But
still is it not a very interesting psychological fact that almost
every officer falls in love with a girl who is rich and ugly? Yet no
one of course ever admits that he has married for money. It is indeed
insulting and libellous to suggest such a thing. On the contrary,
everyone pretends that in spite of his wife's lack of beauty and more
or less unpleasing characteristics, he really loves her. If she had
no money he would of course not look at her. To speak quite frankly,
I cannot in the least understand how rich parents can give their
daughter to an officer. People must know that officers only accept
their daughters because of the money, and I cannot imagine how the
girls themselves can be so foolish as to suppose they are married for
love."
"Excuse me," put in his companion, "you are expressing very curious
views. According to you, then, young girls who are rich ought not to
marry at all."
"I beg your pardon, I do not say that, but they ought to marry whom
they like, only not lieutenants, who, in nine hundred and ninety-nine
cases out of one thousand would not dream of marrying if they were
not up to their ears in debt."
"It is all very well for you to talk," said the other. "It is easy
you know for a man who is born into the world a millionaire to judge
a poor devil severely. What you say is all very beautiful and noble
in theory, but what about practice? When I can, I prefer to ride in
my own carriage, rather than the electric tram. Ah, here our ways
separate, you go to the right, I to the left. What time do you go on
duty to-morrow?"
"Not at all in the morning."
"Lucky fellow, I must be on parade at seven. Good-night."
After a cool handshake the comrades separated and a little later
George reached his rooms.